~ Teacher Turned Hobbit

Tag Archives: grief

Two years ago my daughter Cora passed away. Writing those words seems so surreal to me still. I had a daughter, and her name was Coraline Erica Humphrey. I carried her for 22 weeks, and not a day goes by where I don’t think of her, miss her and love her.

I think of how she would look like right now. She would be almost two. I bet she would have curly hair like Idan, and possibly bright matching eyes. I think of her often when I am bathing Idan and how the tub is filled with toys and how she probably would be taking those toys away from him and dumping water on his head.

I think of the chaos that would have been my life if she and Tyr survived. How she and I would be outnumbered by the boys, but we would probably still win every match anyways. I think of what she would be like with her cousin only 18 months older and how Cora would be following her around with envy, like I do with her mom.

I wonder what her sweet voice would have sounded like. Would she have liked to make animal noises like Idan? Maybe she would have been a loud cryer waking up everyone in the neighborhood.

I think when a mom loses a child, the curse is always wondering what they would have been like, but the blessing is that in heaven they already know you.

I have so many more things I could say, but nothing I can write will convey the depth of my love for her, or all of my children. So I leave you blogging world with this song that connects me to her, and maybe someone out there who has lost their child can relate, and will be thinking of their own child as well.

I don’t know why I feel guilty when I don’t blog as often as I would like. I don’t know why I need to apologize to the virtual world for not updating about my little corner of the world more frequently. I am not getting paid to do this, I am not receiving prestigious accolades. I am just writing for myself, and to keep some kind of documentation of this time in my life for my son Idan. Maybe someday he will get a big kick out of reading what his life was like when he was a toddler, and how his crazy parents were maybe not that crazy after all.

So anyways, sorry virtual world for not writing this past month. And sorry future Idan for not being able to read more status updates of your sweet little 20 month old self.

My world has been busy. Changes and transitions are happening quickly in the Humphrey household. If there is one thing I am learning, pathetically slow, it is that the one thing you can rely on is change. And change is the one thing that has challenged me my entire life.

So here I am, bracing myself for another change in my life.

I got a full time teaching job in the fall.

The upcoming transition is very bittersweet for me. I have loved and struggled everyday being a SHARK (stay home and raise kids). The reality of the situation is it’s time for me to go back to work. It was a gift from the universe that I was allowed to spend EVERY SINGLE DAY, and EVERY SINGLE MOMENT for one year with the love of my life. The Humphreys have fallen into that category of people that just can’t swing it on one salary. Who can now-a-days? Indeed, the parents who can, are extremely lucky, and I am sure they are thankful for that. Because during this year that we have struggled for me to stay home, I have fully appreciated every moment that I could.

Also, this year off has given me a lot more clarity about myself, being a wife, mother, and teacher. A year ago I had no idea what the future year was going to bring me. I was worried and excited all at the same time. I didn’t know that it would be immensely pleasurable cleaning dishes, or that experimenting with certain homemade cleaning products would be so fun. I didn’t know that I would feel lonely for adult interaction and that I seemed like a weirdo for talking to anyone older than 15 at the local Starbucks. Eventually, I learned to enjoy stillness and solitude. I am tickled that I was the one that was able to witness Idan crawling for the first time, walking by himself, and discovering how fun it is to climb on any piece of furniture.

I learned that routines are essential, and that nap time is truly the best part of the day. I loved that Idan and I became symbiotic with each other’s emotions, and I knew instantly if he was hungry, sad, or bored. I learned that there is no friendship better than that of a mom and her child, and together we were adventurers. Him discovering the world and me reliving it. I enjoyed taking several coffee breaks throughout the day, not shoveling my lunch in a 20 min time frame, and I enjoyed the challenge of trying to hide vegetables in a variety of his favorite foods.

This past year being a SHARK has taught me that no matter what other job I do, being a mom is the least recognized, hardest, but most soul -fulfilling role on the planet. I learned that there is no rule book on how to make it work, that you just do it.

I didn’t know that I was going to lose another baby and how despite my deep grief and suffering I have had to trudge on and continue to be a strong mom for my Idan. And that during the moments where I felt like I was going to fall apart in sadness, all I had to do was watch his small, little curls on the back of his head bob up and down while he ran through the house laughing. Thank you little man.

Right before my interview I found a set of unopened daily inspiration cards that were hidden in my bag. I decided to do a silent prayer and pull one out. I asked God to guide me to the one I was about to pull out and have that be the message my heart and mind needed to hear.

To be honest, I was questioning if I should go back to work or not. The idea of teaching again was highly exciting, but leaving my son wasn’t.

The quote on the card I pulled said, “God, Give Me Guts.”

I smiled when I read that, and nailed my interview. Because when I think about it, everything I have done this year, I have needed guts to do. This was my message.

So, God, give me guts to hang up my shark fins and put my teacher shoes back on. Because the new challenge of fulltime working mommy to a toddler is about to begin.

I am happy to announce that I have accepted a full time Special Education position at a middle school in Greeley. Not a day will go by that I won’t be thinking of my Idan or my heaven kids, but I feel that my year of clarity has prepared me to step outside my hobbit hole once again. Thank you Universe for the time that was giving to me already with Idan, and the times with him that are still to come. It will be these memories that will carry me on my hard days when coffee won’t do the trick.

Thank you for reading.

I still plan on blogging…but now it will be the adventures of trying to work and raise a child. Oh boy.

Today is one month since I lost my second son. One month. There is that saying that time heals everything, and eventually you “move on,” and live again.

This is partly true. I will never move on from his death, nor Cora’s death, or even the first miscarriage I had during my first pregnancy. No, you don’t move on, you move with. My love and grief for my lost children don’t stay at the train depot like a lost suitcase. Instead, they are carried with me during my journey back home. Eventually the baggage gets lighter, maybe offloading parts of it I won’t use anymore, but it is never gone. It is always there, a part of me that I will someday not look at as much.

The hard part about moving on is that the person who suffers the loss, tragedy, or trauma never can really reconcile what has happened, but slowly, the people, and the world around them, go back to their lives, leaving the sufferer to find a new normal.

It is tough, and I am doing my best right now to pick up the pieces. I had an epiphany in my kitchen the other day. I was looking out the window at the bird feeder I made for Tyr before he died and started to weep. I realized that part of my despair comes from trying to make sense out of something that will NEVER make sense. I know it sounds simple, but realizing that there was no answer or hidden secret that I could discover about why these things happened to me gave me a small sense of peace.

There is no reasoning with nature. These things really do just happen, and it sucks, but it is the next step in the grief process.

There are two choices. “Bug out,” as my sister would call it and fall down the dark rabbit hole, OR, put on my big girl panties and choose to live a joyous life. And that is what I intend to do. Despite the darkness, sadness and despair, there is still light amongst the trees, and my husband and son are wonderful reminders of this.

SO, I decided that I wanted to have a great Birthday. And I did. It was WONDERFUL. No, I didn’t win the lottery, and I didn’t lose that extra 15 lbs overnight (However, that would have been wonderful). But I did get to eat great food, shop guilt free with gift cards, and spend the day with people who make me feel special.

Did I think about Tyr and Cora? Yes.

Was my heart feeling heavy? Of course. I thought many times how I should be 20 weeks pregnant and buying cute maternity clothes, and instead I am stuck with my “in-between” wardrobe until my body remembers it’s not pregnant anymore.

But I was able to carry them with me through the day a little lighter and in a little safer place.

I will say that looking back on all the birthdays I have had, this one was one of the best. Because it really cannot get any better than eating pizza while sitting next to the two deepest loves of my life.

Thank you for reading. I will be very interested to see what next year’s birthday will be like.

*Birthday Celebration number two happened today! It was more a combined Birthday between my sister and myself. Hubby, Idan and I went to the Cheesecake Factory and spoiled ourselves with yummy food. Also we spent lots of time with family and with Idan’s cousins and had a BLAST!!* I am lucky to have an amazing life*

Idan at the moment:

The boy can run!! I am getting the best workout bouncing around my house, dodging corners, and jumping over toys. He is fast. My 32 year old feet cannot keep up, and scream bloody murder when they step on a Lego. Man those things hurt.

He is really tall. Like 88th Percentile tall. Where he got that, I have no idea. He will be the tallest Hobbit in the shire.

He still cuddles in my bed every morning, and I call him my Koala Baby. My soul hums in harmony every time he nestles under my neck.

I cannot muster up the right words to adequately describe my feelings. So I am going to make this shortly written with some excerpts from one of my favorite books, Wherever you are, my love will find you.

Tyr Jude Humphrey entered and left this world April 25th, 2014 at 9:00 A.M. I was 16 weeks. He was loved, wanted, cherished and beautiful.

I’m struggling to write this because my fingers keep shaking on the keys and I am having to use my sleeve to wipe my eyes.

I am tragically heartbroken.

His name is more of a symbol and reminder of who he was. Several weeks back while my husband and I were on a walk talking about the sad news that was just given to us about our baby, he looked at me and said he had a name for him.

“Tyr” he said.

Why that name I wondered. He then told me of the Norse story of Tyr who was courageous and honorable and had sacrificed his right arm, and because of this he was always remembered in glory.

One of our son’s defects was that he was missing his right arm. This name seemed fitting for us, because he will always be remembered in glory in our hearts and spirits.

I know in time the words will flow more freely. I will be able to open up more about him. I know there will be a time when I look back on this and not feel a sharp sting, but a dull ache.

I know that when I look at Idan, I will often think about all the memories that will not be made with a new little brother, but mostly replaced with “what ifs.”

I know that when Idan plays in the sand, runs in the grass, falls to the ground and stares up at the clouds, his little brother will be there right next to him in spirit, instead of a broken body.

I know that this little soul was more loved in his 16 weeks than many people have in their entire lifetime, and I am happy that I could give him this small gift. My little one has known no suffering, sadness or pain, only my love and the beating of my heart to his.

I pray that he will come back to me in a body that can contain his heavenly spirit, and if not, I have promised him that I will live my life with happiness, joy, compassion and humility, and know that when my time comes, he will be there to greet me, hand in hand with Cora, and I will wrap my arms around them and say “Hello, I am your mom, and I have loved you my whole life.”

To Tyr:

“I wanted you more than you will ever know, so I sent love to follow wherever you go.”